


The Truth About Hort

by Adeline_Hatter



Category: The School for Good and Evil - Soman Chainani
Genre: Backstory, F/M, Gen, Hort's Parents, Implied/Referenced Suicide, Mislabelled Good, Missing Scenes, Morally Grey Characters, Suicide Attempt, The Story of How Hort's Parents Met and Fell for each other
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2018-06-05
Updated: 2019-02-16
Packaged: 2019-05-18 15:41:23
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Major Character Death
Chapters: 4
Words: 14,509
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/14855546
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Adeline_Hatter/pseuds/Adeline_Hatter
Summary: Many stories sat unwritten within The Woods, one in particular did not.Although it was not written by Storian hands...Hort would get the truth either way.





	1. Her

_ For George -  _

 

_ You would sail the seven seas to see the world.  _

 

_ I would prefer to see you on a boat… Instead of in your grave.  _

  
  


* * *

 

The fire roared in the heath, the scraps of paper only fueling it more as time went on. 

 

Her curls were loose for the first time in forever, a soft reminder of a life she’d left. A life she’d given away for the sake of losing something even more valuable. 

 

She fingers the pages of the storybook in her fingertips,  _ The Tale of Agatha and Sophie  _ it’s new. Barely a proper tale in final naive completion, he isn’t named. The boy with the velvet brown eyes and the look of smitten love that comes with this picture of him in the background. 

 

But she knows those eyes, knows that nose and that face. 

 

She’d seen it in the face of a pirate.

 

A pirate who’d stolen away the one thing she’d loved more than anything else in the world. 

 

She rips the page from the bindings, feeds it to her fire slowly. Enjoying watching the child burn, a child that shouldn’t have happened, a child that was poison to the earth because if he were never born than the woman she loved would be alive. 

 

Alive and free. 

* * *

  
  


_ Now  _

  
  


His office was almost as decadent as Sophie’s. 

 

Which was peculier in the fact that there was no way the contractors had done it. 

The size of the polished wood and blood red carpeted room with a silver detail of a single letter repeated over and over again across the floor was new and odd to see. 

 

They often said in a lot of the history books that the Castle of Evil had a mind of its own, often reflecting what the Dean of the School wanted, it would mean that the Dean had been accepted. Or else they’d be thrown into the moat.

 

He’d hidden these particular texts from Sophie upon reading them. 

 

Hort took a step further into the room and looked at the bookcases that lined the stone walls, Nicola would like it in here. He was going to show that girl everything the school had to offer when she returned from training with Merlin. 

 

The reader had chosen to accept the offer of apprenticeship after everything at Camelot, realising her natural talents for knowledge and magic, wanting to learn everything she could before returning to Galvadon to her Father’s Pub, to know what she could. 

 

He could remember her soft fingers on his neck as they’d danced when she told him this, curling through the dance floor at the wedding they’d all waited and fought for. 

 

She’d looked beautiful in the light blue dress that almost matched the colour of Agatha’s petticoats, her hair done up simply as they twirled to the music laughing and happy. 

 

Her smile so bright and excited….

 

Nevers could love. 

 

Hort knew that fact like he knew his bones. 

 

* * *

  
  


It was around lunchtime when the letters and parcels were deposited on his desk, all addressed to him for once. 

 

The wolf left with a roll of his eyes and the slamming of the door as Hort pulled the first letter off the pile, he knew the handwriting that dotted it with care and followed the looping letters that his girlfriend had written with care, he set the letter aside and reached for the next one, sorting them into personals and things from people he didn’t know. 

 

Finally, he got to the package. 

  
It was large enough that he supposed it housed a book, heavy enough that he would guess it was a long story. 

 

He pulled the ribbon off of it and watched the brown paper unravel, the title was embossed in silver and blue. 

 

_ The Princess and The Pirate  _

 

Something niggles in his head. 

 

_ By Boris Flanagan  _

 

This was not a Storian written tale. 

 

Slowly, Hort flipped open the cover where the first words sat. 

 

_ “The Evil Hate and The Good Love.”  _

 

_ This was the one thing that was told to us at School so often it seemed ingrained in our heads.  _

 

_ Two students begged to differ. _

  
  
  


* * *

 

_ Many Years Ago  _

  
  


“The Evil Hate and The Good Love.” 

 

Her nose always wrinkled at this line in the promise and school motto, she’d first read it on her student contract and thought it was ridiculous. 

 

But here she was reading it again all over the school, wondering if just maybe it could be wrong when she lays eyes on the boy standing in the opposite row from her. 

 

And she knows without a doubt at that moment that the so-called motto was wrong. 

 

Completely and utterly  _ Wrong. _

 

* * *

  
  
  


“The Evil  _ Hate- “  _

 

It’s wrong. 

 

He knows it’s wrong because there’s this fluttering in his stomach when he glances over the at students for Good and sees a girl looking at him. 

 

Her hair is long and black and curled to perfection, her face small and perfect, her nose has no slope to speak of, a cute little button sitting in the middle of her face and her eyes look almost like brown velvet…. 

 

She sees him staring back and goes bright red turning away almost immediately after getting caught. 

 

He can feel his own face heat as he looks at the Ever and turns away to face the teachers giving lectures on stage. 

 

There’s a fleeting moment that he does glance back and finds her glancing too. 

 

The Evil Hate and The Good Love 

 

_ It’s Wrong.  _

 

* * *

  
  


_ Now _

 

The handwriting was short and strange and it was splattered with dried out dark circles as if someone had cried onto the pages. 

 

Something short was penned after the first three lines. 

 

_ There will be gaps in this story. I can’t see everything, but I can’t live without writing their story, the Storian refuses to. But they deserve this, they deserve this more than any other heroes of a fairy tale. _

 

_ I can’t live without telling you what I know of the truth Hort.  _

 

_ And I’m so sorry I couldn’t save them.  _

* * *

  
  
  


_ Then  _

 

She admits she’s in a state of dreamy that she’s never been before as if seeing into that young man’s face had clouded her mind and made her giggly and happy to the point that she barely heard the rest of the rules. 

 

Is this what being smiled at felt like? Like you were dancing in the rain and someone was about to kiss you? 

 

Like you got so close to being bitten by a poisonous toad and then found out that it was a prince instead?

 

She knocks into someone who groans as a pile of textbooks clatter onto the ground, “Watch where you’re going!” The other girl yelled as she stood up again and brushed herself off, they stood outside Honor Tower Room 122, her name was on the plack by the door. It would stay there for the next three years. 

 

“I’m so sorry, I wasn’t looking where I was going!” Blonde curls were pulled away from the girl’s small face where her eyes sat blue and determined, “...Are you Cora Mills?” Hope asked softly, watching as she stood and brushed off her pink uniform. 

 

“Yes, I suppose you’re Hope Lupin?” Her tone was flat and bored as she looked Hope up and down, “Hm, you look like you're from Glass Mountain… You’d think with all that glass people would be more tanned.” 

 

She felt her skin turn hot, “Well… My skin tone is natural, the sun does nothing but burn me.” 

 

Cora huffed, “I guess you’re right, can’t help skin pigmentation.” She picked up her books, “Our bags should already be inside, now Hope of Glass Mountain… Tell me everything about you!” Her demeanour and tone shifted to that of someone overly excited and Hope thought that not all Princesses were nice at first.

  
  
  


* * *

 

His fingers can’t stop twitching against his books, he’s already tiny in comparison to most of the boys walking the hallways of the school as he walks carefully by the wall, making sure to avoid everyone’s gaze as he does so.

 

All he can think about is Velvet Brown eyes and a sheepish glance, it echoes through his thoughts with this delicate sort of ease that would probably belong more in an Ever’s head than his own, but. He doesn’t want the memory to disappear. 

 

No chance. 

 

George latched onto the memory as he walked down the hallways of Evil, forgetting for a moment that she was not attainable. 

 

His room was located under the stairs, spacy with two beds pushed up against the walls on either side, a boy already lay on one a suitcase thrown haphazardly towards the wardrobe and a smoking reed poking out of his mouth. 

His dark hair was stuck up in an angle that was unflattering to say the least, showing off his large nose and small eyes, he barely noticed George in the slightest, big and burly as the boy was he knew that whoever he was this boy would end up somewhere great. 

 

He was a textbook villain if anyone had seen one.

 

Slowly he tiptoed over to the empty bed that was located in the curve of the staircase, he’d probably bang his head in the morning but George wasn’t one to complain. 

 

The smell of tobacco was cheap, the kind his father would shove in his smoking pipe before leaving for the tavern, he could remember it mixed in with the smell of mead at two in the morning when his Father would come stumbling in making him promise not to tell his Mother and then fall asleep on the couch. 

 

“Are you going to say hi?” The boy spoke with an accent. George wasn’t sure what was the best way to describe it so he settled on a ‘Brogue’, the boy’s blue eyes focused carefully on him, “You could at least say ‘Hello”.” 

 

“Hello?” 

 

“Oh come on, ye can do better than that.” He pushed himself up off the bed, he was as George had rightfully predicted taller than him, “M’ name is Boris Flanagan, I’m ye roommate… Though you're a little scruffy looking ain’t ya?” 

 

Boris stepped around him, his dark sack of a uniform was ripped open so it became more of a vest, he was looking at him.

 

“Scrawny too… You’ll make a decent henchman thought.” He offered his hand, George stared at it, “You’ll make me a great henchman mate.” 

  
  


George took his hand. 

 

“Only if you end up a Pirate.” 

 

He received a laugh in return, “Oh, we’re going to be famous at this school.”

* * *

 

 

_ Now  _

  
  


She has never seen Hort engrossed in a book. 

 

He’s hunched over the tomb in his hands, eyes focused to the point that he hasn’t even noticed she’s standing in the doorway. 

 

By this time she was so very used to just watching him, watching him laugh and dance and love almost everyone he knew. Tedros was the exception. 

 

His office has changed since the last time she was here, she likes it. It suits him. 

 

She doesn’t make a sound as she looks at him, her lips pressing together carefully as she saw the book in his fingers, she could barely catch the title, but somehow Sophie knew she wouldn’t know the story anyway. 

 

But then she catches sight of the title as he shifts in his chair.

 

Sees the name of the author and- 

 

“Wasn’t Boris Flanagan a student of Evil?” It’s the first thing she’s said in about five minutes since opening the door to Hort’s office, she’d read through all of the old student files over those six months between the heartaches that echoed throughout the woods, “If I’m remembering correctly he graduated a Leader.” 

 

Hort’s head has snapped up to look at her, unreadable emotions flash through before they settle on that usual mixture of affection and dislike he always seems to has for her, “That doesn’t explain why he’s sent me a book, a story he wrote about my Father and some Ever called Hope.” 

 

He lays the book out on the desk and she sees the handwriting, it’s so untidy to her eyes that it’s a little hard to read. 

 

“ _ I offered a hand out to him, said he’d make a great Henchman and… Well, I gained a friend for life, even if I never did end up a pirate.”  _ She reads it aloud, easily after running it through her head a couple of times, “About your Father?” 

 

Sophie pushes the book towards him again, “Keep reading, I’ll cancel History class today.” 

 

“Sophie-” 

 

“Read.” She encourages carefully, “I’ll send a summons to Nicola too if you’d like.” 

 

And he smiles. 

 

A smile she really rather likes, at the mere mention of Nicola’s name his face lights up and his eyes sparkle. 

 

She wonders sometimes if he ever looked like that when her name was mentioned once upon a time, but it’s not her place to do that anymore. 

 

Not at all. 

  
  


* * *

 

_ I don’t think I will ever be capable of forgetting that first Surviving Fairytales class, with George looking so suddenly happy upon noticing Hope standing underneath the same flag as we were due under next to a blonde girl who was scowling at anything that moved.  _

 

_ Cora Mills is… Something else, if she were an Ever I don’t think I ever saw anything that would align with what I know of the Good hearted.  _

 

_ What I do know is that if anyone hated George… It was Cora. Fierce and fiery and not much of a Princess Cora….  _

 

_ I admit there was an odd moment where I had a crush on her, luckily her vile personality snapped me out of it.  _

  
  


* * *

 

_ Then  _

  
  


Everything is blue. 

 

Every leaf, flower, and weeds. 

 

_ Every piece of grass.  _

 

He knew it wasn’t called the blue forest for nothing but… “Is that a blue frog?” He mutters to Boris on his right who laughs at the sight of the frog. 

 

“Don’t worry Georgie, I’m sure it doesn’t bite… But then again maybe you should touch it and find out!” His newly made friend wraps an arm around his shoulders and slowly starts pushing his hands towards it despite the look on George’s face, Boris laughs again “Go on I dare you!”

 

He sighed, bent on his knees and slowly reached out a hand to touch the frog- 

 

Small dainty fingers wrapped around his wrist, soft as anything he’d ever felt, he wondered if maybe this hand was made out of clouds before George looked up at it’s owner. 

 

Her eyes were blown wide in warning as she lifted his hand away, her hair was tied back in a bun on her head, her face open to the air and he could see every plain and curve of her features. 

 

She seems to falter for a moment as her face turns bright red, “...Poison dart frog.” She murmurs tripping over her words a little bit. 

 

He blinks at her, his own face going red as he realises how warm her hand is, feels this strange edge of what must be lightning going through his skin, “W...What?” 

 

She coughs, still holding his wrist even as they both ease from the crouch she’s a little taller than him, she wobbles in the pink shoes on the slippery grass and he steadies her in a heartbeat, “Thank you… Um.. It’s a Blue Poison Dart Frog… Probably not even a real one but I heard that even the poisonous creatures in the forest can cause disfigurement or pain for some time as well despite not actually killing you, they usually spawn in the more tropical parts of the woods and- I’m.. I’m rambling.” 

 

Slowly they both realise they're being stared at by the rest of the group. 

 

“Very good Miss Lupin, I had planned to cover the many amphibians later in the year but you seem to have it covered.” The woman is smiling at the Ever- Miss Lupin -as she shuffles through her papers. Professor Maas nodded quietly, “Now if you are both done I can get on with the lesson, Mr.Scourie please don’t go around fielding dares from your classmates. I know how Nevers are, but this is most certainly not the class for that.” 

 

She lets go of his wrist, both their faces are red and she takes a step back, “Thank you for steadying me again.” 

 

“Thanks for saving me from the poisonous frog.” 

 

Her smile was sheepish, even as a blonde walked over threaded her arm through Miss Lupin’s glowered at him and pulled the girl away, “I cannot believe you actually touched a  _ Never  _ Hope.” She hissed under her breath. 

 

_ Hope.  _

 

Her name was  _ Hope.  _

 

Too bad that it was always foolish to have some.

 

Boris knocks his shoulder with his, “Please don’t fall in love with an Ever, I think I’d have to kick you out of the room if you did that.” 

 

He scoffed, “As if!” 

 

But his face was still red hot and he glanced back to where she was now standing back with the Evers. 

 

She was staring back, their eyes met and she turned away. 

 

“-Now onwards with the lesson on, I’m going to start us off simple with the different kinds of plants that can save your life!” 

* * *

  
  
  


_ Now  _

  
  


She was never really sure about running off on a grand adventure to be Merlin’s Apprentice. 

 

Somehow someway that doubt always faded when she saw the libraries he took her too. 

 

The towering shelves of books that just rose higher and higher with each library she ran head first into, they had started at Camelot after the Royal Wedding and Nicola had thought that they had had the most extensive library she’d ever seen. 

 

She’d been wrong. 

 

Nicola had read books on spells, books on potions, books on curses, books on the very theories behind the magic that ran through everyone's veins.

 

It was the method that Merlin had introduced, every place they went to he’d drop her off at the library then run off to take care of whatever business needed his attention with simple instructions. 

 

Read, make notes, if the spells are symbol-based draw them over and over and over again until her hands hurt. Until the way to do it was almost second nature. 

 

If Nicola were a less capable person it would have killed her by now but she was a fast learner. 

 

They usually spent two weeks in the cities and then moved on, so she had plenty of time. 

 

In between kingdoms on the road she’d practise the motions of the sigils and symbols on her skin. 

 

Merlin corrected her once or twice on some of the protection charms, but merely nodded his approval at other spells and aspects as she recited them with perfect clarity and pronunciation. 

 

She learnt more and more at each Library they arrived at. 

 

But she hadn’t found her favourite until  _ The Mountain _ . 

 

“The mountain being hollowed out completed just before Arthur took the throne, then the scholars of the Murmuring Mountains and beyond started to fill it with as much knowledge as they could gather.” Merlin spoke easily as they descended the steps carved into the wall of a massive cavern filled to the brim with books on everything from Magic to Science. 

Her eyes must have been the size of saucers as the old wizard glanced at her, then smiled. 

 

“I know, I had the same look on my face after I found out about it’s completion.” He nodded to a person in a cloak as they reached the bottom of the stairs, leaving Nicola craning her neck to look up at the highest points of the shelves. 

 

It’s a woman who comes closer, her cloak a deep blue as she takes them both in, nodding once. 

 

Because here Nicola notices that at least from what she can gather standing here, Merlin is the only man currently on the premises. 

 

“This library is a refuge.” He begins as if reading her mind beginning to walk over to where a set of desks is set into the stone “Mainly for witches, but more often than not for Women running from forced marriages…” Merlin looks slightly ticked, even at the words “It’s not my place to talk about it outside of these walls, but the remarkable thing is if you need help they will open their doors, no matter what is contained in your trousers…” 

 

_ Yara….  _ The memory of the pages of Agatha and Sophie’s fairy tale, that girl built of muscles and ginger hair and freckles. Who just wanted a chance to survive ungoverned by societies rules.

 

There’s a decision in her head quietly, “So… It’s a secret?” 

 

“Many people know it’s actually real, but not enough that anyone bothers to find out.” 

 

Nicola glances at the blue cloaks again, feels her coin purse attached to her hip, “What are the chances that a clothing shop in the village sells blue cloaks?” 

 

“A very high chance Apprentice of mine.” Merlin looks around, then pulls a chair out from a desk, “We’ll go later on, for now you are here to learn.” 

 

He disappears and reappears with books on Mathematical theory and Alchemy.

 

And Nicola gets to work. 

 

* * *

  
  


_ Then _

  
  


“You like an Ever.” Boris began, tucked up on his bed, three months into the school year and George was one hundred percent ready to drown his roommate in his sleep if it got him to stop smoking, but it was this simple statement that actually got him to look up from his homework, “And don’t deny it, you stare at her during lunch and are always so very close to finding her in the tests during Surviving fairy tales.” 

 

That was true, but the Everboy who’d hip checked him out the way glaring sharply was a fresh memory. 

 

But Hope had looked back at him later as the Ever boy kissed her hand repeatedly with an eye roll. 

 

“See, the funny thing is… That I’m relatively sure that the Ever in question likes you back.” 

 

George stopped, the pencil clattered to the floor. 

 

“I’m good at reading people and every single piece of her affection seems to be fixed on you when I can see her.” Boris continued, “She’s trying to hide it, you both are because you know it’s against the rules… But you like her.” 

 

Black eyes looked into George’s blue. 

 

“You like each other.” 

 

Silence took over, all he could hear was breathing, his own, all he could feel was the sudden heat of his face. 

 

“That’s ridiculous.” He replied quietly. 

 

Boris leaned back against the wall, “Is it?” He lit his cigarette, “Because I’m not so sure.” 

  
  
  


* * *

 

_ I was right. I typically am.  _

 

_ If someone ever questions your feelings Hort you have to listen to them, no matter how insane they seem.  _

 

_ Your parents were like fires you know? Sparks that wouldn’t ever go out, growing bigger every time they so much looked at each other.  _

 

_ Do you have anyone like that? Someone who motivates you to be a better person? Someone that will do whatever it takes to remain by your side no matter what? _

 

_ I really hope you do, everyone needs someone like that. Whether they’re a friend or a lover.  _

_ Find someone like that.  _

 

* * *

  
  


Five months into the school year, Cora has taken to having lunch with the more popular students at least three times a week, despite her constant invitations to join her Hope never accepts. 

 

It’s raining the day that he sits down across from her at the table, roast lamb with rosemary butter mash steaming away on his plate in front of him. 

 

Hope flickers her gaze up from the book in her hands once and then does it again because Lancelot is sitting across from her. 

 

He looks nervous, maybe a little jealous as she hears Arthur talking loudly across the hall to Guinevere, who’s smiling politely but shooting the odd glance in Lancelot’s direction as if in apology. 

 

“Don’t say anything.” He murmurs quietly as he picks up his fork, digging into his lunch. 

 

“I wasn’t going to.” Hope replied easily, “Though I’d like to know why you’ve chosen my end of the dining hall?” 

 

Lancelot stops and looks at her, studies her for a minute almost, “Because you are the only girl not throwing herself at Arthur’s feet or any of the Everboys for that matter, which is strange to say the least.” 

 

“None of them interest me.” She states quietly, looking back down at her book, “And don’t give me the true love lecture, every teacher’s already done that.” 

 

He stops turning from where he’d looked back at his usual table, “Why?” 

 

“Because it looks like I’m going to fail the year, it’s a stupid rule you know.” Hope snapped, finally done with the questioning stares, “The fact that the female students can’t go alone to Snow ball.” 

 

“....I didn’t know you failed.” 

 

“Well we do, so I ask again.” She frowns at him, “Why my table outside of the not falling over your feet?” 

 

Lancelot peers around the dining hall, “...There’s a rumour going around saying you were born in a Never kingdom.” 

 

Her book falls from her hands, “Where… Where did you hear that?” 

“Is it true?” 

 

“No.” But she answered too quickly, “It’s not.” 

 

“Ok.” He pokes at his lamb as Guinevere laughs across the room, “I heard it as I was walking past some of the girls, thought it was interesting is all.” 

 

They lapsed into silence, the awkward kind. 

 

Hope extracted her book from the mash potatoes of her own lunch, Lancelot continued to focus on anything but the King across the room. 

 

* * *

  
  


_ Now  _

  
  


_ Find someone like that.  _

 

He had. 

 

Hadn’t he? 

 

For the first time in hours he looks up from the book in his hands, seeing the world dark outside. He looks out across the blue forest and thinks for a moment. 

 

About Hope Lupin. 

 

_ Your Parents.  _

 

He went back and traced the two words so simple in design but so maddening in concept. 

 

_ Hope Lupin and George Scourie.  _

 

Because there wasn’t a chance was there? 

 

There was no chance that his Mother could be… Could be an Ever? 

 

Could there? 

 

* * *

  
  


_ At the proposal for dates Hope was taken by Lancelot, everyone knew who he was of course.  _

_ I’m so very sure that he only took her because they were both in love with people that they didn’t believe they could ever have.  _

  
  



	2. Story

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> WARNING DO NOT SKIP 
> 
> In the end of this chapter there is an attempt at suicide, I feel it would be best if I warn people. It is not described with much detail, but please heed this warning if you are uncomfortable.

_ For George -  _

 

_ You remind me of a Sunrise.  _

 

_ But now your sun has set. _

  
  


* * *

 

_ Then  _

  
  


She didn’t want to go. 

 

She didn’t want to go with Lancelot. 

 

She didn’t want to go with an  _ Ever  _ boy. 

 

She wanted to go with George. 

 

Which was ridiculous, because a Never wouldn’t ever be allowed to attend the Snow Ball. 

 

Her eyes drifted to the candle, the flame drifting with the flutter of fairy wings as girls chattered aloud while their hair was curled and primed to perfection. 

 

“How did you get Lancelot to go with you?” Cora questioned as she patted rogue on her cheeks while fairies pressed her blue and gold dress, “All I got was Gareth! He’s not even included in Arthur’s main circle of future knights!” Her hair was up in rollers, she picked up a lipstick, primrose pink as if she were trying to project an air of innocence around her. 

 

“We’re… Friends.” She settled for that after a long moment of consideration, watching as two pink fairies plaited her hair in the mirror, her own dress hung on the door of a changing room, a striking deep red with short puffed sleeves made out of wolf’s fur. 

 

Her Mother had sent it from Home, it was a little old fashioned but it cinched at the waist via a corset that laces down the back with blue ribbon, sapphires dotted the sweetheart neckline as the ballgown skirt floated down her legs, black pumps would sit on her feet for the whole evening.

 

Cora had taken one look at it and remarked that it looked like it belonged in a history book, Hope rather liked it. 

 

It would be matched with the simple pearl and ruby necklace that her Father had sent for her birthday a few weeks prior. 

 

She knew the whispers would start the minute she walked into the ballroom in the dress since it looked less like the pale silks and diamonds you would find encased in the mountains made of Glass and more as if it had been made for someone of a different Kingdom altogether. 

 

There would be questions about the style. 

 

Maybe even a nickname that would follow her for the rest of her life. 

 

But, all Hope thought while she was laced up was the look on George’s face when Lancelot had gotten on his knees in front of her and held out a rose. 

 

She wished she was going with him.

 

Although, wishes very rarely came true for her. 

 

* * *

  
  


They could see the lights from the small window of their room, Boris knocked back a bottle of something he’d swiped from the Teacher’s lounge the day before. 

 

“It’s completely ridiculous that they get to have a party, while we get locked in our rooms.” His roommate began bitterly, George looked up at him from where he sat surrounded by the end of term homework, “One day, someone’s going to fuck this school up Georgie…. May be me, may be someone with a better vendetta… But someday.” 

 

With a raised eyebrow and a wrinkled nose due to the smell of what was probably whiskey George threw a book at him. 

 

“Stop moping.” 

 

“I’ll stop moping when they let us throw a ball of our own!” Boris turned and placed himself on the floor opposite George, now ignoring the music they could hear from across the moat and the lights that reflected through the window, “And we’ll invite Evers too, only the best ones… Like… HOPE!” 

 

George jumped at the mention of her name, he was having a hard enough time shoving the memory of her looking at him for a split second across the theatre before she’d taken Lancelot’s rose and a lump had formed in his throat. 

 

That lump returned, he was a fool. Why would an Ever like a Never? Why would Good like Evil in any way? Why would a girl like… Like  _ her  _ ever want to be with a boy like him. 

 

Boris was drunk, he set the bottle down as he lit a cigarette “George.” He sounded remarkably sober for someone who had already drunk half a bottle of good whiskey on his own, he refused to look up from the homework “You only look at the surface but… Think about her eyes, how did they look to you?” 

 

Large and velvety, sadness in every shape and form, her face may have smiled but tears had welled for a moment before she’d said ‘Yes’ in the quietest voice he had ever heard. 

 

“Everyone assumes that I’m going to end up a brutish villain Georgie, but I ain’t.” Boris continued, taking a long drag “Because I notice things about people, you never hit a Hero in the face when the feelings are the things that actually hurt.” 

 

A tear fell onto the parchment. 

 

“George, I’m fully committed to the idea that she wanted to go with you.” 

 

He almost believed it. 

 

_ Almost.  _

 

* * *

  
  


_ The thing about falling in love is never the action of falling itself. There are also many forms of love, romantic, platonic, unconditional…  _

 

_ To be honest, even if they hadn’t met at school your parents would have met and fallen in love anyway, that was just what they did because their form of love for each other was…  _

 

_ Soulmate levels.  _

 

_ Gods, I sound like some ninny prince or knight…  _

 

_ Whatever. So, Hope went to the Snow Ball with Lancelot.  _

  
  


* * *

 

_ Now  _

  
  


When Professor Dovey pulled Sophie over to Good it was never anything well… Good, usually it was a reprimanding session or consulting on which readers would go where in the school, whether or not to fortify classrooms this year following Nicola’s accident at evil. 

 

It was never because Clarissa Dovey wanted to talk about anything she’d already set her mind on. 

 

“I may have been hasty in making sure Hort couldn’t teach at Good.”

 

There was an underlying sentence that laced through that. 

 

One that made Sophie almost smirk in appreciation for it. 

 

But, she behaved herself and sat in the chair in front of Dovey’s desk in her purple dress, she’d swept her hair up this morning in favour of leaving it down like she usually did, “And why do you think that?” 

 

The evidence was under the pumpkin paperweight. 

 

Letter after letter of resignation or downright refusal of the job, “No one wants the job, because it seems it’s cursed once again.” Dovey began her eyes larger these days, more tired and stressed, “We don’t have a history class.” 

 

“I see.” Sophie spoke quietly, “So you want to see if Hort will do it.” 

 

“Only until we find a replacement, someone who didn’t graduate from the opposite school.” 

 

She thought it over, “I’ll talk to him about it, but for a price.” 

 

Dovey didn’t look too surprised at the easy way she had spoken the words, “Nothing’s changed there I see?” She sighed, obviously close to falling asleep at her desk “What do you want?”

 

“How do you find old students of the school? Outside of the fairy tale system.” 

 

This question did of course shock her fellow Dean. 

 

* * *

  
  


The Mountain went on for miles, bookshelf after bookshelf curling and carved into the mountain surfaces. 

 

She kept her hood down, for the most part, cobalt blue with white embroidered constellations down the back. It attracted attention because it didn’t look like any of the others, but suited her title and skin tone. 

 

Admittedly Nicola gotten lost about two times a day within this place, more than once did one of the Librarians appear and take her back to the study area where a mug of tea seemed to be waiting for her. 

 

Very few of the Women within these walls talked when she encountered one that did they never said much. 

 

That was until Lola. 

 

Or Lo, as she told Nicola she preferred.

 

She followed Nicola around the Mountain most days she was there, long red hair sealed in a plait down her back, tawny beige skin and wide brown eyes. 

 

Her dress looked like it was out of a history book, despite the fact that she and Nicola were the same age, she looped an arm through hers and guided her around the vast library as if she knew it like the back of her hands. 

 

“My Mother was the architect.” She explained, delivering a mug of warm buttery custard drink that she learned from the three broomstick brothers, on one of Nicola’s now rare breaks from studying “She designed every nook and cranny of this place, I know every secret it holds.” 

 

Lo spoke with such a soft tone that it was equally disarming and charming, she’d eased Nicola into a nap more than once. 

 

Something about Lo made her skin fizz, her smile widen, her laughter more frequent. 

 

A simple look from her made Nicola’s heart skip a beat and her breathing stall for a moment, it was a week into their acquaintance that she realised that the feeling was so much of a crush that it was very hard to ignore. 

 

Then Lo smiled at her. 

  
And Nicola thought briefly that she was a goner. 

 

“Sooooo…” She began one day, sliding herself to sit on the edge of the empty desk next to Nicola’s, “You have a boyfriend?” 

 

Boyfriend?  _ Boyfriend.  _ “Hort, his name is Hort.” 

 

“I know.” Her tone was matter of fact but it didn’t lose that alluring softness, Lo leafed through a book on family crests, “Although figuring out that he was  _ your  _ boyfriend and not the Dean’s was a tiny bit of a shock.” 

 

Nicola’s nose wrinkled and her brows furrowed, “Why a shock?” 

 

“Well.” She spoke, a red flush echoing up her cheeks “Um… OH! Have you moved onto to Poisons and toxins?” Her hands flew out to the book on the top of the pile, Lo was trying to change the subject. 

 

“Yes, but could you finish that thought-” 

 

Lo ignored her, “You should read some of H.S.Wolfe’s stuff!” Her voice remained soft as she jumped to her feet, her small heeled boots clacking on the stone floor as she ran into the shelves.

 

She watched the red plait whip around behind her as she ran, the victorian rose coloured- And she hates that Sophie’s invaded her head enough that she knows that -floating around her. 

 

Nicola ponders what exactly her new friend had meant. 

 

Why was it a  _ Shock _ that she was dating Hort instead of Sophie? 

 

* * *

 

He turned the page, his eyes lingering on the way his Dad’s name was written like it had been done so many times that it was ingrained in Boris’s memory. 

 

Then he focused on the new pages. 

 

And finds an entirely different handwriting curling down the page. 

 

It was practised, educated, poised. 

  
It was a Princess’s handwriting.

 

* * *

 

_ Then  _

  
  


It’s the wrong hand on her waist. 

 

It’s the wrong shoulder she lays her hand on. 

 

And she knows it’s not mean to think these things. 

 

Because Lancelot is doing the exact same thing as they step and dance around the room, the band is in full swing and in time with the other couples he lifts her up in the air. 

 

The smiles on their faces are fake and practised. 

 

Her skirt flares out blood red around them like a pool, her heels clicking on the ground as he brings her back to the ground. 

 

His eyes keep leaving her face time and again, straying over to where Arthur and Guinevere are dancing in the centre of the room, but her eyes are also straying to the candles lighting the room.

 

“Nothing’s stopping you from cutting in.” Hope decides to point out in a whisper, as Lancelot lets go of her hand to make a show of placing a curl back behind her ear, “Nothing.” 

 

It’s all a show to them.

 

To make it seem like they were, in fact, enjoying themselves, when they weren’t in the slightest.

 

“You mean except having to live with Arthur being mad at me for the rest of our lives?” He offers drily, “Or the school going off on a gossiping spree because of it?” 

 

Hope shook her head, “I thought knights were supposed to be brave.” She points out as he moves to spin her in time with everyone else and the music. 

 

“You have discovered our greatest secret.” Lancelot drawls, picking up her hand again “We’re all actually just massive cowards.” 

 

Despite herself, the smile on her face becomes just a tad genuine, “If you always think about what could go wrong instead of what you are trying to do, you will never get anywhere.” Hope speaks the honest truth, the one her Uncle had told her when she visited before she left for school, “Besides, I think I’m taking up their attention right now.” 

 

Her ears twitched with every whisper that swirled around them. 

 

_ “Never colours? You don’t think…”  _

 

_ “I knew she was bad news! I heard she held Weasel Boy’s hand in Surviving fairy tales.”  _

 

_ “She looks like she’s Princess of the Manwolves.”  _

 

Laughter echoed after that statement. 

 

And then a singular whisper started to circulate again and again. 

 

_ Wolf Princess.  _

 

“Ignore them,” Lancelot mutters quietly before he pauses in thought. She can see the gears turning in his head as the song comes to an end, “.....Ignore them, I should ignore them.” 

 

“Exactly.” She presses a short kiss to his cheek, “Go get your true love, Lance.” 

 

He grins like a lovesick fool and takes off through the crowd. 

 

Hope retreats to the wall of the room, next to where refreshments had been set up when an arm wrapped around her waist as the music started up again and she was pulled into the throng of bodies once more. 

 

She was pulled along roughly into the dance and she had never seen so much fury as had been encased in blue eyes. 

 

Arthur Pendragon leant down and whispered in her ear. 

 

“ _ Stay out of my story.”  _

 

Then he abandoned her in the middle of the dance floor. 

 

If she were a betting woman… 

 

She’d say she made an enemy for life. 

 

And a king at that. 

  
  


* * *

 

_ Now  _

  
  


Hort takes a shaky breath.

 

Looks at the way these pages are written, the way they’re sewn into the rest of the book as if they hadn’t been there at first, as if they’d been lifted from somewhere else. 

 

Filling a gap in the story. 

 

The thread was red. Bright red, like the kind he’d seen wrapped around his finger in his dreams, it was pulled so tight that he had to focus to see the colour despite how much it stood out. 

 

He read the description of Hope’s dress again. 

 

A distant memory appears in his head, a dress buried in a box in his childhood home… A pair of shoes. 

 

No necklace… But that didn’t matter because everything else matched. 

 

Then Hort remembered his Father seeing him hold it in his hands, marching over and snapping it up, shoving it back in the box and back into the back of the wardrobe. 

 

He’d been so young. 

 

But he remembered George Scourie’s words. 

 

_ “Never touch this wardrobe or that box again.”  _

 

And he never had right up till now. 

  
  


* * *

  
  


The minute her boot touches down she’s in love. 

 

Her gaze is flying everywhere. 

 

From the music that seems to be played by a live band off somewhere to her right, to the towering buildings built into the tall and pointing hills that surround the Kingdom, the canopy of dark trees that grow along the edge at the top. 

 

Looks at the paved road and the light, the more modest in height buildings set along with skyline. 

 

Houses and shops line the street she’s stepped out onto from her carriage, people are walking down it, children running past with a yell of excitement, there’s smiles almost everywhere she can see. 

 

And they aren’t in the slightest bit forced. 

 

She whips around as the wolves from the school carry her bags into the Inn they’ve parked next to, staring at everything, being greedy in what she can see. 

 

Bloodbrook doesn’t look like how it’s described in books or by people. It’s like it’s kept it’s real way of acting from the History books. 

 

From the people who called themselves Good. 

 

It’s smaller than Camelot for sure. The territory designated to the Wolfe Family when they first took power was smaller- She’d read up on history too, not that that it didn’t cause surprise for most of the people around her. The basalt stone bricks that made up the building that loomed above the rest, embedded in the hill to hang over the city just a little. 

 

Thatched roofs mixed with bricks made of carved stone, the buildings all looked a little different but all matched anyway. 

 

She spotted a dress shop a little ways away, making a note to pop her head in before she headed off for her mission. Though if the fashion she was seeing already was anything to go by…. 

 

Sophie was in Love. 

 

It wasn’t like the times before, with the fake warmth and happiness. The eventual heartbreak. 

 

She knew there would be no heartbreak in her soul as she stood in the middle of the street, her hair blowing around her face as she span in a slow circle. 

 

Because unlike Camelot. 

 

Unlike the School sometimes. 

 

Sophie felt like she fit in. 

 

* * *

  
  


Walking on cobblestones in heels looked easy, or at least when the other people in heels around her did with a grace and ease that made her feel like Agatha. 

 

Which was a terrible feeling in her eyes. 

 

But somehow she knew Agatha would also love it here, the history brimmed in everything. 

 

Sophie looked down at the address she held, it was closer to the walls of the City, outskirts she supposed. 

 

The buildings didn’t deter in quality though, not like in other towns or cities within the Woods. 

 

They remained beautifully built, sure. Some had a few loose bricks here and there, but people were out and about fixing them. 

 

She’d chosen a deep burgundy pants suit to wear, the shoes were black kitten heels. She looked professional but amazing at the same time. 

 

It was a talent. 

 

Small, was the cottage that she finally ended up in front of. Shabby too, distinctly different from the other houses along the street. 

 

Her knock was short but loud, no answer came. 

 

The door however swung open. 

 

Sophie took a step inside, sunlight streamed quietly through the drawn blinds, paper scattered the floor, a messy penmanship scrawled across them half crazed, words scratched out. Thrown carelessly away. 

 

The empty bottles of whiskey and rum followed next, hiding in between the paper and the books littered across the house. 

 

She heard the creak, saw the rope then heard the gasp for air.

 

Sophie ran and flung her finger out, as the man she’d been looking for was suspended in the air but out of Death’s door like he’d so obviously planned. 

 

“You must be Boris Flanagan.” 


	3. Will

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Hello, Boris.

_ For George -  _

 

_ As you know, my kind only ever love once.  _

 

_ And for me, you were that once.  _

 

* * *

  
  


He’s set aside reading for now. 

 

While he digs through old student files instead, looking for the name she’d penned at the top, for all instances his Mother’s-Maybe his Mother’s -handwriting read as if she’d been writing a report to someone. 

 

He’s so focused in digging he almost doesn’t notice the wolf in the doorway. 

 

“Professor Scourie.” 

 

Hort jumps and bangs his head on the shelf above him, rubbing it he looks up at the wolf… And realises he’s never heard one of them speak before, “Yes?” 

 

“Dean Sophie wanted me to inform you she’s had to leave the school in Professor Manley’s hands due to an important mission in Bloodbrook.” 

 

_ Bloodbrook.  _

 

“What?” 

 

“You heard me.” He growled and walked away down the hall. 

 

Sophie was in Bloodbrook? 

 

He was almost tempted to laugh at the absurdity of the idea, she’d stick out like a sore thumb within the domed city. 

 

He lit his finger glow, watching all of the files fly back into place on the shelf in the right places all by themselves. 

 

Then he noticed the colour had changed from the blue he’d gotten so used to seeing to a soft purple. Sophie was better at pointing out the names of the many different shades of the colour.

 

He moved it around a little, the longer it stays lit the more the coloured changed for him. 

 

It was distinctly turning more purple than blue. 

 

_ Purple.  _

 

* * *

  
  


_ Then  _

  
  


The note that Boris held out to him was crisp and clean in his fingers, expensive stationery from that of a Princess in training. 

 

_ Write to me. _

 

__ \- H _ _

 

 

“Some pompous git knocked me over, then whispered I had to get this to you at Lunch today.” He explained, “Something-lot, sounds mighty stupid to me… What is it with Evers and weird names?” 

 

George had a snappy comeback right up until he read the address scrawled in golden ink across the cream paper, “She wants me to write to her…” 

 

“Apparently, now come on get packing Loverboy.” Boris ruffled his hair and chucked a selection of clothes in his trunk, leaving the majority of it here for when they returned in three weeks, “I have to get home so I can raid my Da’s stash of the good stuff.” 

 

He rolled his eyes, “You aren’t going to change are you, Boris?” 

 

“No idea, maybe. We’ll have to see now won’t we?” His friend’s smile was large, proud “I’m gonna miss you till next term Georgie.” 

 

“That sounds sentimental?” 

 

“So I can punch some sense into you.” 

 

“There we go.” 

 

* * *

  
  


_ December 15th…  _

 

_ Miss Lupin… Hope? I have no idea how to address you, I don’t even know if you are an actual Princess.  _

 

_ Which if you are, really just makes you slightly more amazing than before. _

 

_ Not that you weren’t always amazing… Completely and utterly amazing….  _

 

_ Um. I should get back on track, shouldn’t I? _

 

_ Yeah, it’s gone, see that’s the uh thing, Hope.  _

 

_ Your smile or at least the thought of it makes everything else hazy to m, because all I want to think about is your smile.  _

 

_ And your eyes lighting up with it…  _

_ Anyway! My address is as follows… _

 

 

  * __G__



 

 

* * *

  
  


_ December 19th  _

 

_ Dear George.  _

 

_ You only live about half an hour’s walk from my family’s estate, though I wouldn’t recommend coming by casually. I think my Father would chase you out…. When he got home.  _

 

_ I don’t know why I mentioned that, it just seemed like a piece of useful information for the future if… If you and I did want to meet up, outside of school, with no magical barriers in the way, we could actually talk.  _

 

_ I would love to talk to you.  _

 

_ And from what I’ve seen of it George? I feel very much the same about your smile too.  _

 

 

  * __H__



 

* * *

 

_ The Evil Attack and The Good Defend.  _

 

Another statement that sat engraved in their heads the minute they walked through those doors, no one questions it, no one who’s been on the winning side of Fairytales for the last few centuries anyway. 

 

Boris was aware that things would never quite be that simple however black and white the teachers attempted to make them see the world or bully it into their heads. 

 

What he knew for sure was that there were very few truly evil people in the woods. 

 

He was convinced that the man who sat in the silver tower lying between two schools was one of them.

 

It happens two weeks after the start of the second term, mid january as they go outside for lunch for the first time since last year.

 

“Is that someone on the balcony of Vice tower?” An Ever Girl asks loud enough that everyone can hear it, looking up at the same time to see a lone Never Girl with hair blowing in the wind her pajamas are tattered as she climbs up onto the ledge of a balcony. 

 

He realises a moment too late that he knows her, well. Boris knows everyone who’s apart of his class, but he knows her because she’s at the top of their class. About to earn Class Captain with top grades in Evil, she’s at the top of the board on every account. 

 

Her name is Sera, she’s from Ravenbow, had bragged quietly that someone had asked her to meet him on Halfway Bridge quietly at dinner last night. 

 

Just yesterday she was being hailed as the future of Evil, the one who would probably end up saving them all. 

 

No one was there to catch her as she took a step and fell from the balcony, dashing herself on the rocks below. 

 

Evers screamed, Nevers ran to the fence that separates the Clearing from the Moat, Boris pushed to the front of the pack of them. Catching the sight of something red mixing with black hair before wolves were being released and Nevers were being herded back towards Evil, Evers being led calmly away. 

 

What the motto said, what the rules told you to believe was not the truth. It was not what it really should have said, it was never about Attack or Defense. 

 

Boris had known her, had believed in her, had talked to her, had even liked her a little bit. 

 

The Evil Die. 

 

The Good Live. 

 

* * *

 

They weren’t allowed to say her name. 

 

They weren’t allowed to mourn her, not even as what was left was gathered up to be sent to what remained of her family. 

 

Her roommate Lena kept her mouth shut, her eyes forwards, but her lips quivered when she thought no one was looking, fury mixed with barely held back tears, he nodded at George as he stood next to her in the hours that followed, classes were cancelled and softly his best friend asked quietly if she wanted help studying. 

 

The sat in the library, a solemn air around them, an echo of someone who had been. 

 

Sera was not the first as it turned out, nor would she be the last. 

 

He holds Lena’s hand when no one is looking, the three of them sitting secluded in a quiet corner as George recites their history homework back to them, she cries into his shoulder and he lets her. 

 

Ten minutes pass with only George’s voice to fill the air as her sobs slow down and her breathing becomes steadier. 

 

“Lena?” She nods quietly, a silent moment that tells him to continue “Who was Sera going to see?” 

 

Lena pulls back, her eyes red as she speaks so quietly he’d almost believe her a mouse. 

 

_ “The School Master.”  _

* * *

  
  


_ Now  _

  
  


“Bollocks.” Boris Flanagan wheezed as she spun her finger in a circle, barely paying attention to it as the rope loosened from his neck, “Can’t a man die in peace?” The plaited threads dropped to the floor around him, releasing him from the bonds entirely. 

 

She raises her eyebrows at him, lowering her finger and setting him on the ground, “Not when he sends a storybook to my school that hasn’t been written by a dagger.” Her words are cold and calm, practiced. 

 

“He got it then?” He chooses to collapse on an armchair that seemed to be in nice enough nick, a lighter and a packet of cigarettes sat next to an unopened bottle of rum, like he’d known something wouldn’t have worked anyway, “That’s good, another thing crossed off my business list, four hundred items to go.” There’s this bitter note of humour in his tone. 

 

Sophie crosses her arms as he pulls a cigarette from the carton and lights it, his beard is scruffy and Boris isn’t by any means a small man at all, he curls the index finger on his left hand and a chair scrabbed through the door next to her, “Sit down then, ask me what you want to ask me and then leave so I can get back to seeing if my curse actually works.” 

 

“Curse?” She mutters, but sits down in the soft padded dining room chair she doesn’t turn her nose up to it, not outwardly at least, “Why did you send the book? The story?” 

 

“Because he needs to know, I needed to make sure he knew.” His accent is less thick then she’d imagined, years of being away from his home land she supposed, “And yes. Curse, pissed off the wrong Wizard and now I can only die after I’ve told all the secrets I know, even then it probably won’t work anyway… Not sure why I bother.” 

 

She doesn’t ask the obvious question, the one word that she has heard in her own head enough that she doesn’t like to speak it out alone. 

 

“Now, let’s see here lass.” He takes a long drag on his cigarette blowing out the smoke quickly as he sits up and runs a hand over the beard on his face, “Dean Sophie I’m guessing? Yer said it was your school so you’re either the upgrade in the faculty or some blonde ninny she’s sent in her place.” 

 

Her eyes roll by themselves, he sounds like Agatha when she decides to play detective, “I’m the Dean, Mr.Flanagan who would I possibly send to investigate something like this when I am short staffed and hated by most of my fellow teachers?” Her question rings through the air and the man smiles as he leans back in the chair, “Now I’d really like some answers.” 

 

Boris stared as he took another drag on his mode of intoxication, silence reigned for a good minute.

 

“So?” She prompted crossing her legs, she had all day after all.

 

“I’m trying to make it dramatic kid.”

 

“I’m not a kid.” 

 

He snorts, “Dean, I’m 38, you are a good twenty or twenty one years younger than me.” His eyes are black and tired, “You are definitely a child.” 

 

Sophie didn’t really have a come back for that, so she sat back in the chair silently fuming while she crossed her arms and he snuffs out the cigarette. 

 

“I wrote it because of my friends, the people who believed in me for years are remembered by few and forgotten by most. Made out to be something they aren’t.” Boris looks at her square in the eyes, “I wrote the truth, I wrote it because no one knows them, not like I did. I’m the only person alive today who knew them in the end, the real them and not the ones that everyone chose to see because it was convenient and easy.” 

 

Confidence and grief were the only things she could detect in his tone. 

 

“I… I see.” Sophie mumbled, admittedly a little lost for words. She actually felt clueless for once and out of her depth as both Dean and Queen of Evil, “I have other questions…” 

 

“Naturally.” He replies, his tone turning softer as he nudges the carton of cigarettes absently. 

 

“They aren’t mine to ask though.” 

 

Boris smiles at her, freely now. There’s nothing evil in the simple expression, “How is he?” 

 

She doesn’t need to be told who he means. 

 

“Happy, I think… Confused by the book you gave him at the moment, good at teaching though, he got into the swing of things eventually and he’s just…. Happy.” Her voice grows in volume and speed as she talks. 

 

He leans towards her again, those black bleak eyes sparking as if with humour as he states plainly, “A simple ‘Good’ would have sufficed Dean.” 

 

She can feel her face go red, though she’s not sure why “I suppose so.” 

 

His smile turns a little sad as he asks plainly, “Did you make The School Master suffer when you killed him?” 

 

The question catches her off guard, a cold feeling running down her spine as she takes him in quietly, like he’s an enemy now. 

 

“Yes.” She states plainly. 

 

Boris nods, “You weren’t the first.” 

 

“I know.” Sophie begins, “...How did you know?” 

 

He sighs sadly, “Three girls.” His tone is quietly mourning as he says it, “Three Never Girls were taken by him during my time at the school, all too young. He was so old, he was sick in the head, he didn’t deserve any sympathy from anyone, let alone love.” He’s scowling, “He’s burning in hell for everything he’s done, the fucking pedo.” 

 

Sophie looks at him with her eyes narrowed and her guard up as she uncrosses her arms and legs, but Boris levels a look on her that makes her feel as if he’d been waiting. 

 

“Hope always said who ever killed that old bastard would be wise and unmoved for very long by him.” 

 

There’s only truth in his words. 

 

* * *

  
  
  


H.S.Wolfe published a total of five books officially, then an additional ten unofficially. 

 

Because, Lo explained as she handed over a pile of five books, all varying in size and weight that when the author had started to publish the Woods had cracked down on Scholar’s research, namely in Camelot’s hands.

 

Especially if it was something related to a creature or being outside of Human. 

 

“There was also the fact that it was rumoured that Wolfe attended the School for Good alongside Arthur and that they didn’t get along.” She tacked on as she pointed to the largest book of the pile, “One of the only research guides on Manwolves in the Woods outside of Bloodbrook.” 

 

The book was leather bound and in a burgundy colour, the cover was worn. This book had been read a good many times, she opened the cover gingerly. 

 

An ink sketch of a wolf in a crown sat on the front page, a dedication below it “ _ To my Uncle, who remains the person I hope to be like to this day.”  _

 

A slim hand reaches over the desk and flips through pages of the book, Nicola can’t help it. She watches the tawny beige fingers move through the different sections before… “Ah, here we go. Page 345.” 

 

The book was written out with a printing press, but the way the words flowed sounded in Nicola’s head like they had been written in anger. 

 

_ “Though, to this day Camelot remains highly on the list of Kingdoms that will not accept Manwolves within their walls, following a proclamation from King Arthur earlier this year that all Manwolves must be accompanied within the city limits by a Camelot Guard.” _ She read aloud, watching as Lo frowned quietly _ “Many have suspected that this was an ill followed piece of advice from the Royal Advisor.”  _

 

There’s this undercurrent in the sentence, despite the text being without personal touch the anger is still present. 

 

“This book was published just before Lady Gremlaine was dismissed.” The redhead chirped, leaning her hand on her hand sideways as she looked at Nicola with a smile, “Very convenient timing don’t you think?” 

 

“Yeah.” She replied, trying not to focus on how those blue eyes sparkled at her with something she was having a hard time naming as of late, she looks back down at the book in her hands finding nicks in the edge of the page from someone tapping their nail against it, “Though that’s not why she was dismissed.” 

 

“She was dismissed because the Queen felt moved by her presence, unsettled.” Lo returns carefully, “I have to agree, I never happened to meet Lady Gremlaine but apparently she wasn’t someone to invite to a party…. May she rest in peace of course.” 

“Of course.” 

 

They shared a smile, something secret littered in it “What does the ‘H.S’ stand for?” Nicola asked, flipping lazily through the pages, different facts and explanations passing by her as she tried to knock the redhead from her thoughts.

 

“Presumably her first and middle name, though the ‘S’ could be the actual surname.” There’s a sigh, before Lo picks up a book herself “Her first name was Hope though, says so in the margins of a couple of these.” 

 

Sure enough, there it was written in dark ink in the margins of the book, looping in an almost unreadable size of script and curling hand. 

 

“Hope.” Nicola repeats, then her eyes all by themselves moved to look over at Lo smiling into the pages of the book she was reading, freckles across the other girl’s face more prominent under her curling red fringe. 

 

_ Hope  _ the Mountain seems to echo. 

 

* * *

  
  


_ Then  _

  
  


There was a reason for her restless mood, tapping out a merry tune on her skirt in classes as they were taught the proper way to wrap their hair or how to breathe with a proper corset on, how to detect poisons in their food. 

 

However, she’d been bed ridden with cramps the last few days so she’d only heard from Cora on the state of what had happened the day before, the girl jumping from Vice’s Balcony. 

 

“I knew Evil was bad, never thought it was that much so thought.” The blonde has placed a few books down on the bed, seemingly uncaring at all.

 

“ _ Cora.”  _ Hope had hissed in response to the inconsiderate comment, “We don’t speak ill of the dead or the circumstances on why they died.” 

 

Blue eyes rolled as the girl flopped down next to her, “But she was Evil, they don’t deserve sympathy.” 

 

She bit her lip, thinking about the letters tucked into the corner of her suitcase, “They do Cora, especially when they haven’t actually done anything large enough to be considered downright Evil.” 

 

“That we know of.” 

 

“Cora.” This was firmer, “Be kinder.” 

 

She was surveyed for a moment, before Cora’s gaze grew a little softer, “Ok.” Then a collection of letters was held up for her, “Your post, I think they’re mostly from your family.” 

 

And for the most part, they were, one from her Father, another from her Mother- Which would undoubtedly be smaller -and then one from her Uncle, which would be the longest… 

 

Then finally one with messy handwriting and on less expensive stationary, that looked as if it had been sent by someone sat across a lake and a moat. 

 

Her smile is squashed down immediately, “Thank you, these will tide me over until the nurse gets here with the pain killing brew.” 

 

Cora sighed, sitting up and standing to walk around the side of the bed “That’s good, then make sure to take a nap ok?” She swooped a piece of Hope’s hair back around her ear and pressed a brief kiss to her forehead, “Now, I have to go face afternoon classes…” 

 

“Have fun!” 

 

“I’ll try…” 

 

The door clicked shut, Hope, closed her eyes and listened carefully to the sounds of Cora’s pink heels walking away. 

 

She hated having her period here, her senses tuned themselves right up to the top, she could hear every step within the school’s walls, every heartbeat, smell lunch and the perfumes. 

 

A whine escaped her quietly as another stab came from within her, then she closed her eyes and focused. 

 

One solitary heartbeat came back to her. 

 

_ Thumb, thumb thumb….  _

 

Hope took a deep breath, then opened her eyes reaching for the small letter and carefully opening it. 

 

_ Hope. _

 

Is it strange that she loves the way he writes her name? All messy loops and hurried precision.

 

_ I’m scared. We can’t speak a single thing without looking over our shoulders, I think it’s driving Boris insane.  _

 

She smiles now, getting lost in his handwriting then frowns because George is scared across those waters, of something unseen and unspoken. 

 

_ Actually, it’s driving everyone a little insane, we have to be careful anyway over here at Evil… But this is different, every five seconds you see someone look over their shoulder before doing it yourself.  _

 

_ Boris has spent the last few days doing damage control, first with Lena… Her roommate, Sera’s the one who jumped. _

 

So it was true then. 

 

_ And everything is just getting more terrifying  _

 

 

  * __G__



 

 

Not for the first time she wonders what exactly goes on across the pond. 

 

* * *

  
  


The rest of her first year seems to drift by amazingly fast after that, there’s no more deaths over at Evil, her letters with George are still relatively frequent, everything seems almost quietly calm. 

 

As if waiting for something. 

 

The summons that she finds upon returning to her family’s estate for the summer is from her Uncle, a bolt of red ink across a black note card that Matilda hands her one step in the door from her pocket, smuggled past her parents then. 

 

She leaves within the hour, her bags not even unpacked as she crosses the border in the carriage to Bloodbrook.

 

And She’s home. 

 

As normal Derek stands at the bottom of the steps of the Bloodbrook Castle, escorting her up into the buildings his hair is slicked back and dark with a few grey strands loose in it. He’s so much older than the current King. 

 

“Did you have a good school term Miss?” He asks as he leads her through the ornate doors and into the white labelled halls beyond towards her uncle’s office, halfway there a young woman falls into step on Hope’s other side, her hair is tied back in a tight bun and her uniform is that of the guards in training. 

 

“I did.” He falls silent for the rest of the walk. 

 

Joanna Gelid smiles at her, winks and then says “We’re having a rematch right? I can’t let you get away with almost killing me again.” 

 

Her face flushed, “The knife landing there was an accident.” 

 

“Sure it was.” 

 

Hope is pulled into a side hug and with a smile, Joanna is gone again down the halls.

 

* * *

  
  


_ Out of everyone I met while in Hope’s acquaintance, none surprised me more than her Uncle.  _

 

_ Frightening from a distance. _

 

_ Warm from up close.  _

 

_ He is the man we all aspire to be I think, he wasn’t evil you know. Far from it.  _

 

_ He just the ruled for the people over the singular person. _

 

* * *

  
  


_ Now  _

  
  


He was not going to follow her again. 

 

He had no rhyme or reason to. 

 

“One ticket to Bloodbrook.” 

 

He wasn’t going for her. He wasn’t, he was going to find the things he remembered seeing as a child in his old house there. 

 

Hort was not running after a Girl he had long since stopped falling for. 

 

“Express.” 


	4. Be

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> To Bloodbrook we go.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This is Un'beta'd at the moment, Grammarly is what I used before but it messes with my computer far too much, so I apologise in advance for any spelling errors or grammar mistakes. 
> 
> But I do so hope you enjoy this chapter.

_ For George -  _

 

_ I walk my life with chains around my wrists and shackles on my feet.  _

 

_ You felt like the key.  _

 

_ But now you are wrapped in chains far tighter than even mine.  _

 

* * *

  
  


_ Now  _

  
  


She didn’t mean to eavesdrop. 

 

“Good Morning.” 

 

“Good Morning Merlin sir.” 

 

Lo’s voice is polite in her reply, not unlike the tone she used with the librarians, that sunniness that seemed present no matter what she said or did. 

 

Nicola paused in reaching for a book just round the corner from them, her fingers stalling just as she brushes the spine of the one she needs. 

 

She can hear her mentor’s footsteps as they walk in a circle, “It’s been a very long time since I saw someone like you, didn’t think that was the method of protection they had chosen here.” 

 

“It was my Mother’s decision sir.” Her voice is tight, she realises. Closing off, “I don’t have a choice sir, it is my purpose this place cannot survive without me.” 

 

“I see.” She peaks round the corner to find Merlin looking sadly at the redhead as she looks almost defiantly back at him, “Could you show me where the ‘Ultimate Guide to Magic In The Kitchen’ is?” 

 

Posture relaxing, hair swinging Lo stands up straighter in an instant as her smile grows wide, “Of course, then I’m going to return to your student sir.” 

 

“See that you do, Nicola is learning a lot from you.” 

 

Nicola turned her head up and caught a look at Lo’s face, a sad smile. 

 

Her mentor sighed, “Please tell her of your predicament soon.” 

 

“I will.” Lo’s tilting voice sounded quietly and carefully. 

 

* * *

  
  


_ Then  _

  
  


There is a lot to be said about George Scourie.

 

His Father was a Sailor and his Mother a barmaid turned housewife by provenance and a steadier source of income. 

 

But, George doesn’t go home when he’s thrown out of Evil’s gates and has to brave the path back home with no way to guide him. 

 

No, he heads for the nearest coast line, hitchhiking on the back of horse drawn carts and following the paths less followed before he finds himself in Rainbow Gale, walking along kaleidoscope roads and ducking under clouds a little too close to the ground. 

 

It rains in Rainbow Gale seventy-five percent of the year and snows the other twenty-five, but it’s one of the Ever kingdoms that don’t look at a small slight boy as he wonders through their town square, picking through the crowds and the people. 

 

When he reaches that coast line though… Oh, for a moment he cannot breathe as he takes a deep breath in of slightly salty air and high altitude as he stands on the cliff face. 

 

The savage seas rage in front of him through the mist, breaking through and crashing across the rocks below him with devasting ease as pieces of wood wash ashore along with the odd piece of clothing. 

 

_ Pirates.  _

 

He’d grown up on those stories, on days when his Mother had been clear headed and his Father long since passed out on the sofa. 

 

Pirates, the true pioneers of the sea, true adventurers who’d take what they pleased but map out their journies, make sure they could be found long after the adventures had been over. 

 

George longed to be out on those waters doing just that, but also taking hold of his destiny tenfold. 

 

Carefully, he sits at the edge of the cliff his dark hair blowing in the wind slightly as he takes another deep breath of sea salty air and falls back against the green grass mixing with the limestone of the cliff face. 

 

His legs swing in the breeze slightly, George closes his eyes and lets his mind go. 

 

Unsurprisingly, his mind goes where it always does these days, straight to her, wondering if she was doing alright, if she was enjoying herself, if she was safe. 

 

He doesn’t think he can be selfish enough to call this feeling love as of yet, but… If asked what it was, if asked what love felt like he’d have to say it felt like Hope.

 

Hope, who’d talked to him in quiet short sentences over the year, who seemed to smile at him a bit differently than she smiled at others, he thinks about the weird frog hair pins he’d found and sent her on a whim over Christmas and how she’d worn them in her hair as often as she pleased. 

 

And he above else thanks the stars that she did not have to see Sera on the rocks. 

 

He jerks upwards as his eyes snap open, looking over his shoulder in a beat of a moment, nerves coiling into a tense moment as he lets his eyes dart around steadily, fast. 

 

The School for Good and Evil had so many things he’d question if he were smart enough to, if he wasn’t just the boy living under the stairs with Evil’s next great leader. 

 

He takes one last deep breath, pushes himself backwards away from the edge and stands. 

 

The savage seas shine in the afternoon sun, even through the baseless mist and the cold air.

 

He’d get on those seas one day. 

 

Even if it killed him.

 

* * *

 

_ Something I’ve noticed over the years is that we crave Freedom over victory, the storybooks, the fairy tales, the myths that we hear, read and are told lie open like this.  _

_ It’s often a one punchline for a Villain, as if they are not a person but an archetype to be used as the writer sees fit.  _

 

_ I’ll be struck down the moment I say this… But, the Storian does not control our fate as much as people seem to believe it does.  _

 

_ There’s always a story to write, it picks one.  _

 

_ The Writers of the world pick another.  _

  
  


* * *

 

_ Now  _

  
  


There is something to be said about being shoved out the door of a small cottage as the clock ticks later and the wind blows colder with each second that passes. 

 

She shivers and a large woolly coat that smells like a mixture of tobacco and whiskey is thrown over her head, “Thanks….?” Boris shrugs and continues walking down the street, a bell chimes and Sophie twists her head to see a tram working it’s way along the center of the road. 

 

“This will take us back the the centre, which Inn are you staying at?” He spoke as he hooked a hand around the pole and hopped on, she followed “I’m dropping you safe there before continuing on to the Palace.” 

 

Sophie turns her head out to look at the looming black building that seemed to cast more of a shadow as the sunlight disappeared over the crest of the cavern the city resided in, “What do you do for a living?” She asks to pass the time as she walks into the tram properly and hands his coat back as she settles in an empty seat and he remains standing. 

 

“Historian, wasn’t my first pick of a job but… Someone has to organise that library it’s a travesty.” He looks over to the wall above her and sighs, she checks and there’s a no smoking sign, “It was honestly always more Hope’s cup of tea, she liked her books and her order… But when she let chaos reign she let it  _ Reign,  _ I remember once when Hort was small she didn’t stop him from pulling on my beard when she handed him to me.” There’s a wistful smile on his face. 

 

There was her name again, the woman who was undoubtedly Hort’s Mother, “What happened to her?” It’s a quiet question as people mind their own business around her and the smile snaps away in a single beat of a second. 

 

“I don’t know.” It’s sad and angry, “All I know is that she’s dead, Joanna delivered the news and one of Hope’s old journals to me not long after George passed.” 

 

She pressed her lips together, watching him as he looked out at the city, coat slung over his arm, “I’m sorry.” 

 

“None of that child, death is a continuous inescapable thing for most…” He turns to her slightly and offers her a sad smile, “They’re an Unfair but reasonable person, they never take anyone when it’s not their time… But sometimes, they don’t have a choice.” 

 

Names flash into her head, how many didn’t get to live the lives that fate had planned for them? How many were supposed to grow old with their true loves? She thinks about Yara, about Nicolas, Chaddick, Millicent, Lady Lesso and Beezle… 

 

She remembers every name, every face. 

 

And she hates it sometimes, but is aware that it’s justice. 

 

Because they’re deaths were her fault on some level. 

 

A book lands on her lap, a small paperback, it wasn’t very thick but seemed to hold a weight about it, “That’s one of hers.” Boris reports, pulling his coat on as the tram pulls to a stop “It’s about someone who never bothers with their own happiness, who says they’re content watching it happen to those they care about… But desperately want to feel it, pretty sure she wrote it about me.” 

 

“Why?” Sophie stands. 

 

“Because I was that someone, George and Hope belonged together, they were happy and I… I pissed off a wizard.” He pauses in fixing his collar, “You have another question.” 

 

She gets off the tram, “How do you feel about teaching?” 

 

* * *

  
  


_ Hope’s Uncle could kill you and you’d thank him, only man who’s ever actually terrified me with a polite smile… Never had the pleasure of knowing Hope’s Mother though I have heard stories over the years but…  _

 

_ If anything Hope was raised mostly by her Uncle, you could see it in the way she carried herself.  _

 

_ In the way she smiled.  _

* * *

  
  
  


_ Then  _

  
  


Books line the walls, she’s immediately enveloped in the smell of bergamot and citrus, smoke from the fire she finds her eyes drawn to before looking at the man going through documents at his desk. 

 

“Hello Hope dearie.” 

 

“Uncle Vincent.” She curtsies, he waves her off as he stands, twice her height, same dark hair as her and her Mother, Vincent Wolfe opens his arms and she runs into them all decorum forgotten as she hugs the living daylights out of him. 

 

He lets her just hug him for a moment, before pulling her away, “Cuppa?” 

 

“Please.” She sighs and flops in one of the armchairs by the fire, pulling the pillow out from behind her and tugging it into her lap, “How’s running the kingdom?” 

 

Her Uncle sits in the chair opposite her and starts pouring the tea, “The same old, shall I call for some Victoria sponge?” 

 

“Yes!” She tapped hand hands on the table and he laughed, “Before you ask, school was okay… Something happened towards the end of term though..” Her arms wrapped around the pillow a little tighter. 

 

He paused in reaching for the bell pully, “What happened? Hope, you look harrowed.” 

 

“I didn’t see it myself.” 

 

“What happened.” His tone had changed, he was angry, he pushed her tea cup towards her a little more. 

 

Hope shrunk into her shoulders, “A girl jumped off Vice Tower and killed herself.” 

 

Silence, then a teaspoon clinking as it falls to the table, “ _ Who?”  _

 

She looked up, watching her Uncle’s cold face, the look in his eyes, “Her name was Sera from what I was told.”

 

“Eat your cake.” He stated plainly, standing up and towering, “I have some people to talk to, back in a moment.” 

 

“Uncle-”    
  
“Hope, dear, stay here please.” His large hand pats her head and she feels like a child again, “I will get to the bottom of this.” 

She watches him leave, his office is still warm though. 

 

Maybe, he could fix something for them all.

 

* * *

  
  


It takes about five hours in total for him to get up through the Glass Mountains and over the landscape for a lot of Bloodbrook’s open forestry before he ends up back within the city walls. 

 

Still, there is a lingering sense that he shouldn’t go home, one he wants to follow but is unsure how to without misreading or misremembering how to get back on his path. 

 

He walks down main street instead, looking around at the people.

 

George Scourie then turned and looked at the looming black palace that sat carved above them all, that scared, yet protected them all. 

 

Because he felt a pull, a pull to something within it’s walls… To Someone who was scared about something bigger than them, about everything that was bigger than them. 

 

He turns around and takes a step towards it.

 

What ‘It’ is though, he hadn’t the foggiest. 

 

* * *

  
  


The tea went cold. 

 

Her Uncle never returned to his study and left her there, all alone with nothing but the fire and the tea set. 

 

She watched the fire slowly, watched the way it cracked the logs, the wood, at the beautiful chaos it caused but the warmth it admitted for her comfort and security. 

 

She watched it flicked, it curl. 

 

Then watched it die down. 

 

Hope stood up, brushed off her skirt and took a step towards something. 

 

What ‘It’ was though, she hadn’t the foggiest. 

  
  


* * *

  
  


_ July 13th _

  
  


_ George, I spent the weekend at my Uncle’s in the city, you should see his Library, it travels for miles and miles.  _

 

_ He showed me the new collection he found on amphibians today and left me to my own devices.  _

 

_ Did you know Frogs symbolise a whole boatload of things? The main one being a Journey to Transition.  _

 

_ Frogs go through a journey to reach new heights and adulthood just as we do, I’m going to the Marshlands of Krygios in a few days time to study some of my favourite kinds… Though I will be sneaking out to do so as my Parents disapprove.  _

 

_ Apparently studying Frogs is not something a young lady of substance does with her time, when I beg to differ.  _

 

_ I hope your summer holidays are all well and good.  _

 

_ Though, what… What I really want to do George is see you.  _

 

_ Yours, everly. _

 

_ Hope.  _

 

* * *

  
  
  


_ July 22nd.  _

 

_ Hope, it’s always a pleasure to hear about your experiments and analysis of some of the more risque study topics in our lifetimes.  _

 

_ Things that most spare merely a glance to in a story book.  _

 

_ I’m going out with my Father on the ship he works on for a voyage, I don’t know when I will return but this is something I’ve been praying for since I was a child.  _

 

_ Have I ever told you why I love the ocean and sea so much? To me it looks like freedom, no rules, no one judging you.  _

 

_ I know why Evers wear blue too, because it is that.  _

 

_ Blue is the colour of water, of the ocean, of the deepest depths unreachable by mankind…  _

 

_ Blue is the colour of complete and utter  _ Freedom. 

 

_ Storian, Boris would knock my head around if he say this, call me a ‘Romantic Twat’ and threaten to hang me upside down or fight me until I couldn’t think a string of thoughts like this ever again.  _

 

_ But, I want out there Hope. _

 

_ I want to see the world we live in, every inch, until I’m old and gray with Grandchildren who barely understand a word I’m saying, until I’m old enough to hold my wife’s hand and hope it’s not the last time.  _

 

_ I love the stuff about frogs though and… I looked up some of the meanings, they symbolise ‘Dreaming’ and ‘Luck’... _

 

_ Two things that I think suit us both just fine you know? _

 

_ Yours, everly.  _

 

_ George.  _

 

* * *

  
  


_ Now  _

  
  


The letters were all pressed and stuck into the book, his Father and Mother’s correspondance or what Hort thought was probably left of them sat woven into the stories, into this timeline that was plotted out and double checked so carefully that he almost didn’t know if he should keep believing it or not. 

 

His Mother had loved  _ Frogs.  _

 

Distantly, Hort mourns his pajamas even more with this knowledge, knowing that maybe his Father had chosen the pattern with intentions unseen at that moment, a quiet promise. 

 

What made the letters almost disbelieving in nature however was the complete and utter  _ Love  _ that curled into each word, each letter, the way his Mother wrote his Father’s name with all the loops and curls in such a practiced way that it almost seemed to be seared into her muscle memory. 

 

The way his Mother’s name was always the most carefully written thing on the page. 

 

He lifts his head out of the book to shut it when the train pulls to a stop, the sign outside deeming that they had arrived at their destination with all the time in the world. 

 

Footsteps on cobblestone streets he’d walked so many times before the School for Evil came and snatched him away- And then later his Heart in the hands of it’s Dean for longer than he was willing to admit -they seem almost foreign, yet still somehow familiar. 

 

The paths were familiar, as he stands in the center of Main Street, bag on his shoulder containing a story written by the hands of his Father’s best friend in his school days, Hort looks up at the towering palace that had terrified him as a kid.

 

Yet now, he looked at it and felt a pull.

 

A tug. 

 

Something within it’s walls was calling out to him, a thousand times that would never stop pulsing in his chest and beating his heart, never stop yelling to just stop and listen. 

 

He presses his lips together as the wind blows through and he can feel them getting chapped simply in the way that he licks them after they cool. 

 

Hort looks up at the Palace. 

 

Then takes a step towards it. 

 

Towards what however, he still, undoubtedly. 

 

Hadn’t the Foggiest. 


End file.
